It’s beautiful. Wild and untamed and...
Sheriff Rune Hale’s face materialized in her mind’s eye, unbidden and unwelcome. Those steel-gray eyes that had studied her with such intensity, as if he could see straight through to her soul. The way he’d moved with predatory grace, all controlled power and quiet authority.
Stop it. Hot man in uniform being helpful, nothing more.
But her treacherous mind refused to cooperate. She remembered the way his black hair had fallen across his forehead, how his uniform had stretched across his broad shoulders, and the scent of pine and spice and something darker that had clung to him. There’d been something almost primitive in the way he’d gazed at her—like a man recognizing his match.
Ridiculous. You’re projecting because you write romance novels.
Her hand moved almost without conscious thought, reaching for the notebook. The pen felt natural between her fingers as she began to write, letting her thoughts flow onto the page without censoring them.
Gray eyes like storm clouds, carrying lightning beneath the surface. The kind of man who commands attention without raising his voice, who moves through the world with the confidence of someone who’s never questioned his place in it. Authority wrapped around him like armor, but underneath...
She paused, pen hovering over the paper. Underneath what? She’d only met him for twenty minutes, but something about Sheriff Hale had felt familiar, like déjà vu wrapped in testosterone and badge authority.
The forest called to him. I could see it in the way he moved, like he belonged here among the trees and shadows. Like he was part of something wild and untamed, despite the uniform and the professional demeanor.
Her pen moved faster, capturing impressions and emotions she hadn’t even realized she’d felt. The way the sunlight had caught in his dark hair when he’d carried her bags. How his presence had made her feel both safe and on edge, protected and threatened in equal measure.
This place... Blackpine. Even the name sounds like something from one of my novels. There’s something here, something ancient and powerful that hums beneath the surface. The trees whisper secrets, and the shadows hold promises. It feels like coming home to a place I’ve never been.
Time slipped away as she wrote, pages filling with raw observations and half-formed thoughts. The creative flow she’d lost months ago trickled back like water through parched earth, tentative but real. She described the way the moonlight paintedsilver paths through the forest, how the silence felt alive rather than empty.
When she finally set the pen down, her hand cramped from gripping it too tightly. A glance at her phone showed nearly three hours had passed in what felt like minutes. The notebook lay open before her, pages covered in her familiar scrawl, and for the first time in months, she felt a spark of satisfaction.
Maybe this crazy move wasn’t such a mistake after all.
She closed the notebook and moved to the kitchen, needing to reward herself with something warm. She pulled out her tea kettle from one of the boxes, and filled it with water from the tap, marveling at how clear it ran.
As the kettle heated, she rummaged through the boxes until she found her box of chamomile tea. The familiar ritual of brewing tea grounded her, and made the cabin feel a little more like home.
She was pouring the steaming water when the sound reached her—a long, mournful howl that rose from somewhere deep in the forest. Her hand stilled on the kettle, and she listened as the call was answered by another, then another, until a chorus of wild voices sang to the moon.
Wolves.
Instead of fear, she felt a strange pull, as if something in her chest responded to their call. She’d written about wolves countless times, had researched their behaviors and pack dynamics for her shifter romances, but she’d never heard the real thing. The sound was both beautiful and haunting, primal in a way that caused her skin to prickle with awareness.
They’re just animals.
Yet something deeper whispered that there was more to it. She set the kettle down and moved to the window, pressing her face against the cool glass as she peered into the darkness.
This place just might change everything.
Her phone buzzed against the counter, and she saw Cosette’s name on the screen. Perfect timing, as always.
“Please tell me you haven’t been murdered by mountain men or eaten by bears,” Cosette’s voice bubbled through the speaker, bright with energy despite the late hour.
“I’m still breathing,” Electra replied, settling back into her chair with the steaming mug. “Though I did get pulled over by the local sheriff within five minutes of arriving.”
“Ooh, scandalous! Was he hot?”
Electra nearly choked on her tea. “Cosette?—“
“That’s a yes. I can hear it in your voice. Describe him immediately. Spare no detail.”
“He was... professional. Helpful. He let me off with a warning and escorted me to the cabin.”
“Uh-huh. And?”
